


Iterations

by anomalousmaterials



Series: Space AU [1]
Category: Alien Series, Blade Runner (1982), Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Prometheus (2012), X-Men (Comicverse), X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Robots & Androids, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Alternate Universe - Space, Android Erik, Androids, Charles Always Says the Absolute Worst Thing He Could Possibly Say, Clones, Human Experimentation, M/M, Medical Experimentation, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Philosophy, Robot Feels, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-26
Updated: 2013-11-29
Packaged: 2018-01-02 16:08:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1058837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anomalousmaterials/pseuds/anomalousmaterials
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There was only one thing Charles Xavier hated more than androids, and that was space itself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Isolation

**Author's Note:**

> Co-Written with molecularmonster on Tumblr. Originally posted on hulkling.tumblr.com

The moment Charles steps off the shuttle and watches his own ship, his crew, recede into the glow of a phase jump, he hates this ship. A biological research vessel--the future of research, they’d called it.

 

It might as well be a prison.

 

Still, Charles sucks it up, hefts his solitary bag in his hand, and proceeds to the bridge.

 

“Dr. Xavier. Ah, you’re here.” The man raises a hand, and walks over to Charles, leaning over the gangplank’s railing to look at him from above. “And not a moment too late. You do know we are due to start testing, and as a scientist aboard this vessel, you will be assigned an artificial assistant.” The man looks through his anachronistic plastic spectacles down at Charles. An attempt to make him feel insignificant, no doubt.

 

Charles suppresses the urge to actually grab the man’s glasses and snap them in half, but this is supposed to be a more civilized place. As such he’s not too sure what would happen to him if he did such a thing. He’s sick, and for his own good he’s here, despite everything. It’s something to do while he gets treated, right? He’s not a fan of whatever they have in store though, he’s sure. “I assure you, I am completely capable without an assistant.” 

 

“Dr. Xavier, need I remind you that while on this ship, you will abide by the rules and regulations pursuant to the contract you signed.”

 

“I’m aware.” He’s very aware. “You don’t have anyone here that dislikes androids? Seems like a not all that uncommon fear.” 

 

“Most if not all of our research staff are content to follow company policy.” Said with the additional air of ‘I was hoping you’d be one of them--and make my job easier.’

 

But Charles never makes anything easier. “Of course.” Said through gritted teeth. 

 

“I’m glad we’ve come to an agreement, then.” The man smiles coldly, with only the faintest trace of civility. A purely plastic smile.

 

It’s as much of a send-off as Charles gets, before the man grabs a clipboard and strides off, too busy to be bothered with the issues of one desperate scientist, for sure.

 

Charles sighs and looks at his datapad for his room assignment. If no one has time for him, he might as well take a nap.

 

—

 

1848 looks out through the windows of the storage pod. Surrounded by glass and metal--he could not, would not, conceive of anything else. Such is his programming, and his programming is not to be ignored. It is his entire existence.

 

The engineering tech looks up from his datapad at 1848. “Alright, 1848. You’re being assigned to a Doctor Charles... Javier?” The man squints at his datapad. “Anyway, you’re all initialized and ready to go--once you make yourself respectable for human company. Go on, android.”

 

“Yes, of course,” 1848 replies, muted through the thick plastic wall before it opens and he takes the first steps he can remember taking.

 

His uniform is easy to find, a simple grey zippered affair with his callsign and denotation marked in clear script on a patch. He puts it on before marching to the central laboratory, where his datapad suggests Dr. Javier is located.

 

“Excuse me.” 1848 says, coming up behind the small brown-haired man looking intently at a test tube. “Do you know where I might find a Doctor Charles Javier? I am assigned to him and should report immediately.” So earnest. So sincere. 1848’s programming dictates that this will allow for a diplomatic and calm introduction to his new overseer.

 

The man in front of him stiffens, turning around as if he’s heard something horrific. “Who are you looking for?” Bright blue eyes that are at first outraged and then washed with something else when 1848 finally comes into view. 

 

“I was told by the man who gave me my assignment that I am looking for a Dr. Charles Javier. Other possible pronunciations include Exavier, Zavier--”

 

“Xavier.” It’s very pointed and Charles is trying to stop himself from snarling really. Not even two days in and he’s being harassed by synthetics. “My name is Charles Xavier.” 

 

“Ah. My mistake.” A small smile, which 1848 attempts to make as genuine as he can. Though to Charles, it will unfortunately appear no less plastic than the one he was given earlier. An unfortunate lack of advance in android technology. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Dr. Xavier. I look forward to assisting you to my utmost capacity.

 

“I’m sure, but I won’t be needing your help. At all.” He moves to walk past him, not even bothering to look at the name on his name tag. He doesn’t care.

 

“My apologies--but this is my job. If you do not accept my assistance I will still attempt to assist you. It is all I can do.” 1848 frowns slightly at him. “I can simply perform dangerous or time-consuming tasks that do not require our interaction if that is preferable.”

 

“That’s actually the perfect solution to this.” He finally looks at the name. “Erik.” There is a twinge somewhere, but Charles just writes it off as his medication finally kicking in. 

 

“Good. I am pleased we can come to an agreement, Dr. Xavier. Simply allocate me tasks via datapad as you see fit.” 1848 stands there, not wanting to appear rude by leaving before he’s dismissed.

 

“Can do.” He looks him over once more before walking away. Can he go back home now?


	2. Initiation

1848 sends a message several days later when he has yet to receive work. If Dr. Xavier does not have work for him, he can remain patient and sit in the android holding area. However, it has been a few days, and his programming states that is sufficient time to wait for a human’s response without being rude.

 

Human. Isn’t he supposed to think of himself as one of them? His programming doesn’t dictate one way or the other. No matter.

 

He sends the message, and waits. Perhaps there is some music he can listen to in order to occupy himself. This tune about a scientist is rather harmonic to his emotional processes.

 

Charles' datapad pings when he’s just laying down to sleep. What now? He groans as he stretches to grab it, flicking the message open. He should have known that android would attempt to reach out again and for a second he feels bad that he has been ignoring him. Then he remembers that he’s just a synthetic and it doesn’t matter because _he_ isn’t capable of having hurt feelings. [ What do you want? ]

 

[ I was hoping you might have some tasks to allocate to me. ] 1848’s reply is sufficient, or so he believes.[ Can’t you wash some beakers or something. All of them. Every one in the upstairs lab.]

 

[ Why, of course. Right away, Dr. Xavier. Thank you. ]

 

[ _1848 has signed off._  ]

 

Charles lays awake a little longer, feeling regret ball up in his stomach.

 

1848 locks his datapad and trots off to the lab. He finally has a task--his first task. Feeling productive is Good. Being productive, when he gets to the lab, is better. He was made to accomplish tasks, and as such feels a great deal of fulfillment. No task is too menial or beneath him, especially when he is fresh from a memory wipe.

 

If he was human, he might even whistle.

 

—

 

Charles feels bad about what he did for days and he doesn’t know why. The synthetic wanted a task and he gave it to him, nothing to feel bad about. And anyway, he has more important things to worry about. He’s overdue for a check-in, so he dials up the lab on his ship. Relief watches over him as a familiar face--the first in days--comes on the screen.

 

“Kitty. Can I get a time frame on when you guys are coming back?” He talks into his datapad when the lab is empty and he’s finishing up some slides.

 

“Soon--shouldn’t be longer than a few months. How are you, Charles? Made any friends on the ship?” Kitty smiles, and puts her hands on her head, listening.

 

1848 walks into the other side of the lab, not noticing Charles and focusing on the task he was given. The ship’s glassware has never been cleaner--1848 cleans it every day.

 

“Not really. Everyone here is focused on work and there are only a few other people receiving treatment for one thing or another. The higher-ups treat me like an invalid when they medicate me.”  Charles doesn’t notice.

 

“Ugh--I’m sorry to hear that. I mean, no doctor is as awesome as Hank is, but... are they at least taking care of you?” She flops down on her bed, crossing her legs behind her.

 

“I guess so. Haven’t had any trouble walking like Hank said I might, but no one has said anything about genetic decay or technical terms they think I don’t understand.”

 

“I mean, you are a geneticist. Hopefully they’d know that you’d know what they know that you know. You know?”

 

He laughs at that, the first time he’s laughed in about a week. “I think I’d be better off with you guys.”

 

“I know. Maybe I’ll send you a counter to count down the days or something. Slap together some code.” She smiles wide at him, and it hurts a little with how genuine it is.

 

Charles just wants to be back home. “Logan behaving himself?” It’s just then that he hears glasses clinking together. Someone else is here with him.

 

“Slightly. He is Logan, after all.” She sighs and rolls her eyes, which shows him what she thinks of that particular conversational avenue.

 

“You know how to put him in his place if he needs it.” He smirks at her before rolling back in his chair. “Hold on a second, I’ve got to take care of something. Charles pauses the datapad for a moment before turning and seeing Erik, still washing all that glass.  “You can stop.”

 

“Oh!” 1848 turns, smiling that slight smile of his. “Hello, Dr. Xavier.” He sets the glassware he was working on aside and walks toward Charles.

 

“Hey. Yeah... you don’t have to wash every glass.” Charles isn’t exactly apologizing, but he is trying to do something.

 

“Did I... misunderstand the task?” 1848 tilts his head slightly in inquiry, just enough to be inhuman, and it grates on Charles' nerves for a reason he can’t even describe.

 

“No, but I have something else for you to do.” He looks over at his unfinished slides. “Prepare all the samples here and have them labeled and ready for tomorrow.” 

 

"Of course, Doctor.” 1848 smiles at him. “Right away.” He will work through the night to get the task done, of course. The perfect little worker bee, Charles thinks with an internal grimace.

 

“Sorry, about that, Kitty…”

 

“It’s okay.” She smiles back at him.

 

Charles sighs. “I should probably be getting to sleep. It’s been a long day.”

 

“Alright. Goodnight, Charles. Sleep tight.” Kitty smiles at him one last time before Charles signs off and shuffles back to his quarters.


	3. Reinstitution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Charles continues to be angry, and 1848 continues to... well, be 1848.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gonna move to longer chapters. Let me know in comments if you like this or shorter chapters better!

There’s a reason Charles hates robots, androids, synthetics, whatever you want to call them. They try to make them more and more human as the years go on, but nothing really changes. Same artificial, waxy skin, same blank eyes, same oddly abbreviated expressions. It’s like Shaw Corp was intentionally aiming for the uncanny valley.

Regardless, the robot seems to have gotten the picture, and gives Charles a wide berth for the next few days, along with the rest of the ship’s crew. They’d almost gotten along for a second, but the longer Charles is away from his ship and the longer it takes for them to start his treatment, the more bitter he gets. The lack of attention from anyone, living or robotic, is welcome space to brood until they call him down to medical. Any day now, they tell him, they just need to calibrate the equipment. It honestly couldn’t come soon enough. Charles has made more than enough friends for one lifetime, anyway.

He looks over the screen showing his section of precancerous human tissue, and digs around in his pocket. Charles had pulled a lighter out of contraband earlier in the day, signing a waiver that he’d only use it in his quarters. Fuck that. If he’s going to die, he’s going to die with dignity and lungs full of tobacco. He cups his hand gently around the flame, before pulling the cigarette out of his pocket and lighting up. He inhales in a nice, long drag, letting the smoke fill his lungs.

Footsteps click on the tile, and sure enough he hears a tentative “Doctor Xavier?” If Charles ignores it, it will just go away. Just like everything else in life. It’s worked so far for him.

“Doctor Xavier?” The damn thing walks closer. “Doctor Xavier, are you… smoking in the laboratory?”

“No, I’m fucking your mum,” Charles retorts around the cigarette.

“Well, I… why, I don’t have a mother,” 1848 replies. Charles almost wishes he could turn without making eye contact, because he’d sure love to see how he exceeded the thing’s emotional responses.

“Yeah, well, that’s what you get for being a robot.” He exhales again, pulling the cigarette away from his mouth and tapping ash onto the control panel of the computer.

“I—” The robot clearly doesn’t know what to do with him. Maybe after this, he’ll stay away like everyone else. It would be the smart thing to do.

“Just go, I don’t know… culture the residue in the men’s toilets and perform an ELISA. And after that, you know what, maybe you can go and analyze this data for me.”

“Why. Of course, Dr. Xavier.” 1848 almost sounds hurt.

No, Charles is definitely just imagining things.

—

1848 reports back to central processing as he’s instructed to every two weeks, being slotted back into the rows of androids as the techs process them.

“Come on, you hunk of silicon,” one says, practically slamming another android into its bay. “Right, 1848. Get over here, robot.”

1848 nods, walking steadily over and placing himself into his bay.

“Guess we have to treat you right since you’re special, huh? Premium ShawCorp model. Xavier doesn’t know what he even has, the prick. Doesn’t matter.” The tech plugs the cable into the port next to 1848’s bay, and his world shuts off.  
“What do you think about the dude he was assigned to?” Another tech asks, trying to alleviate the monotony of the task. “Xavier, right?”

“Yeah. guy’s a nutcase, far as I hear. Got transferred to us from some other ship so we could fix his brain or something. I mean, that’s just what I hear. But he spends all his time alone. Hear he’s an alcoholic too.”

“Jesus,” the other tech says with feeling. “And they gave him 1848?”

“Special orders, it seems. Guy hates robots so they figured he might feel a little better if he got a more realistic model.”

“Wouldn’t that just make the problem worse?”

The first tech shrugs. “I don’t know. Far as I can see, Xavier is a walking problem. Anything could make him worse.”

—

1848 is waiting by Charles’ workstation the next day, and gives him a smile so bland it twists something in Charles' gut. It doesn't help that he's mad at so many things this morning--mad at his lower back pain, mad at being away from Earth, mad at this stupid expression on this stupid robot's face. 

"Hello, Dr. Xavier."

Charles pointedly ignores him and starts checking through his messages. 

"Dr. Xavier," 1848 says again. 

"What," Charles grits out as he finally turns to acknowledge 1848's presence, "robot?"

"I simply wanted to state that my memory has been wiped, and therefore, I have no recollection of tasks you had given me previously. I can assure you that all tasks prior to the wipe were completed satisfactorily."

"Oh, can you now?"

"Yes, Doctor."

Charles squints at him for a second before turning back to the computer. 

"That will be all, robot."

"Excuse me, doctor?"

"I said, that will be all. Go back to your memory wipe... Thing."

"But, Doctor--"

Charles pauses in the middle of pulling a cigarette out of his pocket to turn back, baring his teeth. 

"Doctor Xavier, need I remind you that smoking is both carcinogenic and--"

"I didn't bloody ask for your input!" Charles yells, startling the whole lab to stare at them. 

"My apologies, Doctor," 1848 says before striding quickly out and disappearing after the doors swish shut. 

—

Charles never thought he’d been one to actually see the negative effects of smoking, especially not on himself. When he looks in the mirror he can see bags under his eyes and when he looks down at his fingers he swears he can see them slowly turning yellow. Maybe it’s just in his head though, or maybe it’s his illness. Maybe he’s just willing himself to die faster than he already is. Regardless, he looks like a ghost in the mirror. 

He hears a knock on the door, not urgent. More… mechanical. One guess who it is.

“I'm taking a piss. Go away.” A lie of course, but for fuck’s sake. 

“My apologies, Dr. Xavier. I simply wanted to let you know that your data has finished processing. Shall I come back another time?”

“Brilliant. Come back some other time that's far, far away from now.” Charles spits out as he leans on the sink. He’s not sure if it’s because he’s sick or if it’s because the android is starting to wear on him, but he’s feeling more and more guilty when he snaps at the thing. 

Which is every time they see each other, if he’s being entirely honest.

“Yes, sir.” The android’s delivery is robotic, and Charles hears footsteps going off into the distance.

Charles take a deep breath before he convinces himself to peak out the door. “Hey--robot.” He looks down the hallway. 

1848 turns around, suddenly expectant. Automated response, probably.

“Charles. Call me Charles. Not sir or Dr. Xavier. Just Charles.” 

“Yes, Charles.” He starts to walk away again.

“And.” He starts. “Process the data and bring it to me on a spreadsheet. I’ll be waiting for it.” 

“Of course, Charles.”

—

When 1848 returns, he walks in on Charles sitting at a board, apparently playing a game of chess with himself. “Charles. I brought the spreadsheet as you requested. I hope it is formatted properly according to your personal standards.”

“Sure--it will be just fine.” At least androids never fuck things up. Human error nowhere in sight. He doesn’t turn to look at him though, head resting on his hands as he looks at the board. 

“How many years have you played?” Androids trying to make conversation. Ha.

But Charles isn’t feeling so sick to his stomach so he indulges him. 

“I learned to play when I was boy. So--a really long time.” 

1848 nods. “Models of the 1800 series of Shaw Corporation androids are programmed not to win at chess or any other similar game of strategy more than 66 percent of the time.”

“Good for you.” Charles moves a pawn forward. 

“...thank you,” 1848 replies, confused, before setting Charles’ paperwork down and standing in a corner of the room.

“You need something else?” Charles finally draws his gaze up from the black and white pieces. 

“No.” He continues to stand there, his gaze suddenly shooting up from the pieces to Charles.

“Then why are you standing super creepily in the corner.” Charles narrows his eyes. 

“You haven’t dismissed me or told me to leave yet. Thus, I assumed you wanted me to stay here.”

“Yes. I wanted you to stare at me from across the room.” The sarcasm drips but it’s not as if the android can sense it. “Just--” Charles scrubs his face. “If you really want to play with me, fine.” 

“I can continue to look at you across the room if you truly desire it, Charles. It does not bother me at all,” the android insists. Insists. Funny. Not as if it’s capable of independent thought.

“I’m sure it doesn’t, but if you keep looking at me like that I’m going to rip your bloody eyes out. So sit.” Charles cooley points to the seat across from him. 

1848 sits faster even than humanly possible, setting his hands still on his lap and staring immediately down at the board.

“It’s your move.”

“You want me to play?” 1848 looks up a bit, but only at Charles’ neck. Not his eyes.

“That’s what I said, didn’t I?” 

“I suppose.” 1848 studies the board again before moving a pawn forward.

“You seem at a loss for words tonight.” Charles moves one of his forward as well. 

The android makes another move, considering the words. “Would you like me to initiate my verbose protocol?”

“I don’t know what the hell that is but i’m just going to say probably not.” 

“It simply means a running mode in which I will be more talkative.” He sits back, studying the board. Can’t it think faster than that?

“I’m really not the talkative type.” 

“Then I will keep my current mode of operation.”

Maybe this was a bad idea. He’s not sure why he ever thought differently. The android across from him--trying so hard to be human, and so clearly not… it makes him sick. Like he’s going to throw up all over this damn chess board any second. He pushes it down though, takes that twisting feeling in his guts and stuffs it as far down as it will go. “Do you know why I hate synthetics?” 

“No, Charles.” It looks up at him for the first time since it had sat down. “Why?”

“Because I could do anything to you and you’d just sit there and take it. You’re lifeless in the worst way. No soul, just a mockery of everything human.” 

“I was built with certain emotional capabilities. But I have been instructed to follow your orders no matter what. I am your synthetic assistant.” It’s said with a nuance and sadness in the android’s eyes that could almost be human. An almost-perfect copy. “So ultimately… you are correct.”

“If I asked you to lick my boots you would. Don’t you see something wrong with that?” 

“I see that that is what I have been ordered to do. Therefore, I would do it. That does not preclude my independent desires.”

“Independent desires?” 

“I think I should like to see Earth.” 1848 pauses. “That I should like to have a feline pet--a cat. That my work would help further science in the world and help humans in some greater way.” Another pause, which is used to move a knight into the center of the board. “I would, I suppose you could say, like to do my creators proud, though I have little concept of pride myself.”

“And what do you think of me. When you’re all by yourself. When you think about those other things.” 

1848 looks up at him, puzzled. “I am never alone. Even in my wipe pod, there are technicians.”

“When you think about those other things then.” 

The android hesitates, and it’s the first time Charles has seen that particular response from it. “Do I… think of you? Is that what you are asking?”

“That’s what I’m asking.” 

“I am—not sure what sort of answer you are looking for, Charles.” The android’s blue-grey eyes come up to meet his.

“Guess you’re never going to know either.” Charles digs in his pocket, taking out another cigarette and lighting it. “That’s the mystery of being human. The ambiguity of emotion.” He takes a long drag before taking one of Erik’s knights with his. 

1848 just keeps looking at him, before moving another piece and getting up. “I should… go check on the lab. Thank you, Charles.” He walks swiftly out and leaves.

It’s only when he’s finished with his cigarette that Charles realizes that the robot had left him in check.


End file.
